The Tinker & The God
by TheGreatAmazingBanana
Summary: Loki had his throne... but could he keep it? He desired to rule by might, not by tricks. But he could not do it alone. Lydia's life goal - to bring to life the goliath she has created - puts her in the path of the jealous god.


**Hi All!**

**A new story. This one includes characters from the entire Marvel universe. So, expect a bit of jumping around. Hope you enjoy! Drop me a review so I know you're out there. **

**This starts during the current spot in the timeline, and includes all the TV shows and movies. It'll take me a chapter or two to get the players on the board, so please be patient. :)**

* * *

Hers wasn't the worst life. It wasn't the best - certainly not. All things considered, she had nothing to complain about. She was reasonably attractive, she was intelligent. But, like everyone in this world, her life felt lacking. So, she filled it with her 'art.' And, unlike most artists, she at least found a way to support herself financially with her 'gift.'

There were people out there who would kill to have Lydia's gifts. She tapped away at her keyboard, watching the security camera feed of the outside of her home. Well - her workshop, but… for Lyd, it was the same thing.

Lyd tapped a few more keys, the camera feed panning through it's track, as she watched the figures walking through the rows of trashed cars and broken fridges, stacked some twenty feet tall.

Lyd's workshop wasn't exactly the easiest thing to find. And she liked it that way. Flicking the enter key, she let out a small 'huh' noise.

"Funny," she said quietly. "I thought you were dead."

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Melinda asked, in her usual flat-and-yet-oddly-sarcastic tone of voice.

"Friends are few and far between lately," Coulson said with a small smirk. "So we'll settle with the people we know who _don't_ immediately open fire."

"I suppose," came the curt reply. "But this could be a trap."

"I doubt it…" Coulson said, and kicked a hubcap aside with the side of his foot. It clattered against the pile of scrap metal and chains. "If she held a grudge, we'd probably be dead by now."

"This junkyard is huge," Skye observed, stating the obvious. "How does she have her shop in here? We didn't see it anywhere on the satellite photo."

"Oh, her workshop's here. I know _where_ it is, I just… am still looking on how to get in.."

"Care to clue us in?" Jemma said with a smile. There was a hollowness to her eyes, ever since what happened, but she put on a good show of happiness to try and hide the worry and the sorrow.

"She's underground."

* * *

"She's underground," the speakers replayed Coulson's response, picked up by the audio mic's she had scattered around her 'upstairs parlor.'

"Clever," Lydia responded to the screen - that couldn't hear her - and tapped another key, switching camera angles. "Not a shocker, though. Of course I am. I can't work topside." Lyd gave the edge of the table a shove, and rolled back away from her desk. She spun in the rolling chair, and stood up - walking down the stairs that led up to her computer desk towards her main work area.

"Boys!" she called out. "We've got company. Clean up and make yourselves presentable."

* * *

"But from everything you've said… she… really, _really_ doesn't have any reason to talk to us, let alone…" Skye trailed off, hugging her laptop back to her side.

"Let alone not kill us," Jemma piped - a little too shrill. The lab scientist piped. Coulson tried not to smile too fondly at the woman's openness. The young lady wore every emotion on her sleeve. She'd make a horrible spy - but she made a wonderful teammate.

"If she was holding a grudge, we'd be dead, I told you," Coulson replied, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "We've walked into her home. She already knows we're here. I'm just… looking… for the doorbell…" he was suddenly lost in thought as he saw something that looked familiar. "Ahhah!" he tore off into the junkyard, a gleeful 'I'm proud of myself' look on his face.

"Oh good," Melinda said dryly. "Here's hoping we were going to turn up empty…"

The three women followed after their 'boss' - the new Director of SHIELD. Which really wasn't saying much seeing as… well, they were what was left of the defunct organization. "You still haven't answered our question," Skye asked.

"It really wasn't a question," Coulson said, half-distracted as he pushed a piece of rebar off of the hood of a 1971 pontiac firebird. But, instead of the usual phoenix emblazoned on the hood - it had two figures. One of the phoenix, but the other of a dragon. They were twisted together in a knot - and he knew that symbol. "Found it!" he exclaimed happily.

"I am going to say again that this isn't a good idea," Melinda said, the tone of her voice forever betraying her lack of hope with the situation.

"Noted," Coulson replied flatly. He looked down at the hood - okay, he had found the doorbell… now what? He was really good at the first 98% of the plan - nobody was better than him at the lead-up. But that little 2%...

Whelp, worth a shot.

He reached down and knocked on the hood.

There was a creak from the car - and the hood popped open with a violent WHAM. Coulson and his three teammates leapt backwards - and Melinda already had her gun pulled and trained on the hood.

A mechanical arm began to unfold from the engine block, folding itself up and revealing a small screen and a keypad. The screen's image was blurry, but it showed the same image that was on the hood - the logo of the phoenix and the dragon. A slightly tinny, mechanical voice piped up from a speaker underneath the screen.

"You rang?"

"Uh," Coulson responded. _Good job, idiot. Nice start._ "We'd like to talk to you."

"I thought you were dead."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Coulson responded with a half-smile. "I'd like to talk business with you."

"I don't know if I should be talking shop with SHIELD. _Last_ time I cut you all a deal… it ended poorly for me. Once bitten, and all that jazz," the tinny voice of the woman on the other side of the screen responded.

"Yeah… I know," Coulson responded sadly. "Look, if it's any consolation, I… really, really didn't know. I thought you died in that explosion."

"So it's a mutual misunderstanding - you're dead, I'm dead, we're both alive. Lucky us," the voice laughed.

Coulson chuckled. "Let's throw ourselves an un-birthday."

"Sounds like a plan," the voice responded, half-sarcastically. "So, word is that SHIELD is dissolved. So… You and your friends don't work for anybody anymore."

"That's… about half true," Coulson said, and rubbed the back of his neck. He knew he'd be dead in the snap of a finger if he mis-stepped, so he figured he should be his usual 'charming' self. "SHIELD isn't gone - just… downsized. Uh. I'm the new Director," he said with a smile that blatantly said that he had a hard time believing it himself.

"Wow. Whole place goes to hell, and you wind up with a job promotion. Good on you," responded the voice, the sarcasm in full force. "So has SHIELD come back to finish what it started?"

"No!" Coulson responded, a little too strongly. "I… promise you, I didn't know. I really didn't know. When we got access to all the Level Ten files and I saw the list of inmates at the Fridge - I… Look," he sighed. "You don't owe us anything. We owe you. A lot more than we can repay. But we need your help. I know - I know - I know how stupid that sounds-" he spoke quickly. "But we… don't… have… a whole lot of options."

There was a long silence.

"... Please?" Coulson added with a hopeful smile.

The arm retracted into the hood of the car, and the hood slammed shut with a hollow-sounding THUNK.

"Well, I guess that's a no," Skye said with a small shrug. "I guess we could-"

The ground suddenly rumbled, and the pack dirt beneath their feet split in a large circle around them. As the ground rumbled again, it began to lower. An elevator. Coulson staggered and caught his footing quickly, and had to grab hold of Jemma to keep her from falling over.

"Whelp, I hope I'm not wrong about that 'grudge' thing."

* * *

"_Yer a softie, y'know, that." _

"Yeah, yeah, I know… just make yourself scarce, would you?"

"'_Yeah, yeah,'" _he mocked her. "_Outta sight, outta mind. Like I was neeeeever here."_

"If only we were so lucky." Lydia rolled her eyes and pushed up from her chair again.

She picked up a remote from a metal table and clicked a button. The overhead lights began to click and sputter - she never _did _get around to replacing them. She had work lights that were more useful to her - she didn't get guests often.

Lydia whistled to herself and picked up her coat - it was one of those quarter coats, came down just to below her bustline. But, it served it's purpose. It hid her arms. Not like she wasn't sure that Coulson already knew - the whole of SHIELD knew. So, that means his whole gang was privy to the information. But, habits and insecurities die hard.

She took her place at the bottom of the stairs that led to the lift elevator, and waited. It was a fair distance from the surface, and she had set the elevator speed to 'low.' The british girl looked a little squirly and she didn't want her falling off the lift.

Lyd leaned back against a metal table, and looked over idly at a pile of metal and wires that was next to her - a heap of an unfinished project. She reached out and picked up a small two-position switch, and began clicking it from one side to the other while she waited.

"Hope you put the coffee on, Gregor," she said to the shadows.

There were two low hums as a response, and she smiled into the shadows. "I didn't say you forgot, I was just hoping you did, is all. I think I'm going to need a cup shortly. This conversation could go either way." She tucked a strand of her long dark hair behind her ear. Two other hums from the shadow and a rustle was her response. "Oh, don't worry, hun. I'm smarter than that."

She paused for a second. "I hope."

* * *

The elevator finished at the bottom of its run with a small bump. Coulson looked at the girl in front of him - short hair in the back, long hair in the front, blue tipped nearly-black hair, and bright, too-clever amber eyes. Definitely her.

"Lydia. It's been a while," Coulson stepped forward off of the lift. "You look good."

"Jesus, Phil, you sound like an ex-boyfriend," the girl laughed and straightened up from where she was leaning casually against one of her work tables. "And thanks. You do too, for a deadman."

"Well, what can I say. I work out." Phil gave a shrug. He loved the silly witticisms - another thing he did well.

Lydia shook her head, and folded her arms across her chest. There was a long, pregnant pause as she watched Phil and his companions. "Can I trust you, Phil?" She asked, quietly. There was a direness to her voice that made his heart break. Phil had never heard that kind of darkness from her before. And he was partly responsible for putting it there.

"Yeah, Lyd… you can."

The girl debated it for a moment, and let out a sigh. Muttering something angry at herself in Welsh, she threw her arms up in the air, frustrated apparently - hopefully - at herself. "Fine. You can all come in. But you're going to have to leave the guns on the floor of the lift. And I'm serious about that - you-" Lydia pointed at Melinda. "Have three guns on your person. Three. I counted. I want to see three guns on the floor."

Melinda sighed deeply, looking at Coulson thickly, expressing her silent displeasure.

"Do it," he replied. "It wouldn't help much even if you had them, trust me."

"Then why give them up?" the asian woman asked as she pulled the guns out of her holsters, and dug the one out from her boot.

"I don't like guns," Lydia responded. "You'll get them back when you leave. You really can't blame me for my lack of trust," she finished, bitterly.

"Because of the Fridge?" Skye asked. Coulson winced. The girl was blunt. He adored that girl. But man, she could use some tact.

"Yes, because of the fridge," Lydia replied quietly. She tilted her head to the side curiously, and looked at Coulson. "How much do they know?"

"That you were neutral. That you sold some of your projects to SHIELD. That there was an… incident, an explosion, and you were filed dead. There was… even a corpse. A really convincing one," Phil sighed. "But, when I was given the records to SHIELD - what was left - I looked up the list of inmates at the Fridge - to see who was set free when Hydra attacked. And there you were."

"How long has it been, since the Fridge was busted into?" Lydia asked quietly. There was a faint clicking noise, and Coulson realized after a moment that she was flicking a switch back and forth in her hand. Luckily, it wasn't wired up to anything - but that didn't say much, when she was involved.

"Six months," Melinda responded.

Lydia shook her head, and put the switch down on the table. She turned around and began walking into her shop. "I don't know how long it's been - it took a good few days to get off the drugs. I still can't sleep, Phil. I… don't remember a lot of what they did to me. I do remember what they made me do."

"I'm so sorry," Coulson responded, his heart breaking. Lydia was a good kid. Powerful. Scary powerful. But a good kid. "I didn't know."

"I believe you. And that's why you're all still alive," she said, far too casually.

"You aren't a killer, Lyd." Coulson took a step forward off the elevator, and began to follow her. His teammates followed.

"I didn't use to be."

Coulson swallowed hard. There was the darkness again. He wanted to know what SHIELD did to her - but he was afraid he already know. "They haven't been so kind to me, either."

"You don't say," Lydia replied, her sarcasm thick.

"I died. It wasn't a cover up. It was… real. Coming back was… not my choice. I won't ever really forgive them. I'm just trying to do to the best with what I was given," he replied.

"You're so good at the speeches, Phil. It's charming. I'd say that I don't forgive SHIELD - but there isn't really a SHIELD to hold a grudge against anymore," she chuckled once, darkly. She picked up a cup of coffee that was sitting on a tray on the edge of the tray - still steaming hot. There was a pot, and a few empty cups, some cream, and some sugar in a bowl. Coulson tried not to chuckle.

"We're SHIELD," Melinda replied thickly.

"You're the leftovers. Clinging to the meaning of the organization that doesn't exist," Lydia shook her head and sipped her coffee again. "It's why I always prefered to work solo."

"That's not true," Coulson cut in, and walked over to make himself a cup of coffee. Lydia hadn't offered - but she didn't need to. It was an old habit of theirs. Lydia shot him a look as he challenged her, and he grinned playfully. "You don't work solo."

Lydia laughed. "You haven't changed. Death or not. Oh. You new guys - make yourself some if you want," she gestured idly to the coffee. Walking to one of the nearby metal tables, she climbed up to sit on it, leaning on a scrap of metal that was loosely hammered into the shape of a helmet.

"Oooh, this is amazing!" Jemma said, her attention drawn into a pile of wires, circuits, tools, and pieces of machinery. "Oh, I wish Fitz were here," she said morosely. "He would love all this," she finished with a sad sigh.

"Mmh, so you are Jemma. Alright. That makes you… Melinda May, Skye 'No Last Name,'" Lydia listed, taking a sip from her cup. "And Triplett, I think."

"Yeah," Triplett responded with a shrug. "Right on the nose."

"...T… Trip?" Coulson whipped around, staring at the former agent. "When… did… you… get here?"

"Been here the whole time, what're you talking about?" Trip asked, confused.

"We left you in the car," Skye insisted, confused.

"Clearly not," Trip chuckled. "I'm right here. Been here the whole time. Look, I'm used to getting ignored by women, but.."

"I wish I still had my guns," Melinda narrowed her eyes at the agent.

"Guys, c'mon, I-"

"Mimsy… quit it," Lydia scolded. "They're guests."

"It wasn't really working, was it," Trip sighed.

"No. You can't fool a bunch of spies with the 'I was here the whole time,' stunt." Lydia shook her head.

"Damn. Y'know, I _never get to have any fun."_ Trip's voice… changed, halfway through. It became hissy, and more like the sound of metal rubbing on metal. Jemma shrieked and jumped back.

Agent Triplett suddenly… changed. It was like he had been run through with a million tiny egg slicer wires - each section of his skin suddenly shifted and rotated - thousands of little panels spinning vertically, like a twisted version of the triface rotating billboards. Suddenly Triplett was… somebody else.

The man who stood there now grinned a broad, twisted smile that wasn't… sane. It wasn't human. His chin-length blond hair fell along side his face, and his eyes were mismatched - one was silver, one was black. "_Hey guys - 'sup?"_

Melinda's face was twisted up, and she was in fighting stance. "I _really_ wish I still had my guns." Skye was wide-eyed in shock, and Jemma had her hands placed over her mouth.

"Mimsy, why do you have to do that?

"_I love that look, ya only get it like… once. Each. It's fun," _the creature said.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Mims…" she said, with the tone of voice of someone who had said the same thing many, many times over. "Play nice."

"What… the hell," Skye was the first one to find her tongue.

Mimsy turned towards Skye, and folded one arm across his stomach and took a deep and dramatic bow at the waist. As he stood up - his form shifted again, the little slivers of metal whirring around and… Skye was looking back at… herself. 'Skye' smiled, and flicked her hair dramatically over her shoulder.

"Oohh that's weird," Skye said and took a step back. "Oh I don't think I like that. Quit it."

"Make me," 'Skye' said back in her own voice with a laugh.

"Do I really sound like that?" Skye said, half-offended.

"Mimsy, I will make you regret it. Stop." Lyd said firmly.

'Skye' let out a dramatic sigh, and shifted forms again back to the blonde man, and he grumpily folded his arms across his chest. "_Fine, mom._"

"Mom..?" Melinda asked incredulously. Coulson was happy to just watch the scene unplay before him - he'd seen Lydia's work before. He hadn't me this one before, but… he wasn't as shocked as the others.

"He calls me that to tick me off," Lydia sipped her coffee again. She crossed her legs at the knee, and kicked her leg idly, the heel of her knee-high boot bouncing idly off of the rail of the metal table. She smiled knowingly at Skye, whose wide-eyed stare revealed how unsettled she was by Mimsy's presence.

"More specifically, he calls me that because I built him."


End file.
